


Fevered Logic

by darkling59



Series: Annals of the Incomplete [17]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Hallucinations, Misunderstandings, Murder attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-17 23:15:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3547367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkling59/pseuds/darkling59
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 'Strange New World', Archer managed to get Trip to listen to him, to take the serum before his mounting psychosis convinced him to shoot T'Pol. What if he hadn't?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fevered Logic

“Trip, take the injection! Then we’ll deal with these rock people.” Archer was unable to keep the tense concern out of his voice. He could tell by Trip’s voice that the engineer was at his breaking point. And with a phase pistol aimed at the first officer, the situation was very grave indeed.

“No dice Cap’n! It’s too late! I’m not going to die with a hypospray in my hand!” Archer's concern turned to horror at the hysterical tone. He could feel the situation slipping out of his control. Maybe if he could convince Trip of something closer to the truth as his mind was currently perceiving it…

“Trip!”

“No! It’s not gonna happen!”

“Alright, alright! Just…calm down…”

“Cap’n they’re here! I can see ‘em!”

“Trip, calm-!”

“No! Stay away! Call them off, Vulcan! Do it!”

“TRIP, NO!”

“Damn bitch!” the sharp crack of a phase pistol seemed to echo on the suddenly silent bridge. For a good minute, Archer could not bring himself to initiate a link. Good God, what had Trip done?

When the silence finally broke, it was from the surface. “I got ‘er cap’n.” Trip’s voice was savagely happy, something Archer hoped never to hear again. None of them were especially fond of the Vulcan but she was still a member of the crew. He watched the open horror on the faces of the present senior staff and could barely make himself speak around the lump suddenly in his throat.

“T’pol…Trip, what have you done?”

“She was controllin’ them, cap’n! I’m telling you!”

“What did you do?” He couldn’t keep the tightness out of his voice this time any more than he’d been able to keep his concern out before. Fully grounded concern at that. He was not happy to be proven right.

“I shot ‘er.” The satisfied, matter of fact statement was more convincing than the other evidence combined and Archer sank slowly into his command chair, legs suddenly too weak to support him. T'Pol hadn’t even wanted to go down there…oh God, no…

“You…killed…?”

“Nah, Vulcan bitch is too quick for that. Clipped her good though; there’s green all over the wall. Bet her rock buddies won’t like that.”

* * *

 

T’pol careened through the foliage, terror stalking her very mind. Fear was an emotion and as such illogical…as a Vulcan she should not be feeling anything. Let alone something so base.

But the pollen on this planet affected even her carefully structured mind, making her tremble and pant as she fled the delusional engineer and balk at imagined dangers at every turn. She’d lost her communication unit when the commander shot her arm but her phase pistol was still clutched gamely in her right hand, set firmly to stun. She would not give in that easily. Mental discipline was all that separated her from the plight of the humans in the cave and she clung to its tattered threads with the tenacity of a bulldog, submersing her mind in the process and allowing her suppressed instincts to guide her feet.

It didn’t take long for her to realize her shivering was no longer from fear; the frigid rain beating down was an acute danger for a desert creature like herself. She had to find shelter before the commander hunted her down…

_It is illogical to assume he will come after me. It is also illogical to assume a human has the strength to best a Vulcan in combat. Our physical fortitude is far superior._

The thoughts were forced and she could feel the unfamiliar emotion of fear boiling just beneath the surface, held back by the not quite empty words.

_I must find shelter._

Keen alien eyes found the hiding place long before a human would have.

It wasn’t much; a long, narrow cave between the soil of the valley and the stone of the mountain, most likely created by a seismic incident many years, possibly decades or centuries, ago. Barely two and a half feet high and six feet long, it was actually more of a shelf than a cave and would not be a feasible option for most of her larger crewmates. As such, it would probably be ignored by anyone looking for a hiding place. _Including Commander Tucker_ , her unconscious mind insisted. She ignored it.

Warily, phase pistol ready, she leaned over and sniffed at the deep darkness, encountering only the dusty smell of rock and slightly sharper scent of a harmless native mammal, the equivalent of a terran mouse. Her sensitive ears could pick up no trace of respiration or movement. Deciding there most likely was not a predator sheltering in the small cave, T’pol crouched as low as possible and surveyed her surroundings with military precision, driven by an instinct born from her genes and fostered by her training for the intelligence ministry.

Content with the safety of the cave and surrounding area and increasingly uncomfortable from the rain and stinging of her injury, she laid down on the ground and maneuvered inside her shelter on fingers and the tips of her feet, holstering the pistol as she did so. It was not comfortable, in fact it was a bit like being in a coffin, but it was dry and far deeper than it looked from the outside. She was not barely protected as she had feared; the crevasse extended a good five feet back from the ‘mouth’.

It took some creative contorting but eventually she managed to make it to the safest, driest part of her little cave and lay flat on the floor, focusing on suppressing the pain in her arm and the chill of her damp clothes. The pollen did not seem to be affecting her as much as it had (probably because she’d left the others and was out of the wind) but her instincts and emotions were still far too uncontrolled to be trusted. But she could suppress that; she was used to it.

Undeterred by the weather outside, T’pol drew herself into a deep state of meditation, intent on championing over her own body.

She would not receive the medication from Dr. Phlox therefore she had to assist herself.

Putting aside all thoughts of hypothermia and blood loss, the young Vulcan bent her mind to the task.

**Author's Note:**

> Bit of a backstory/continuing story to this one. If you'd like to see the outline (it never got to the prose stage), drop me a line.


End file.
